Tuesday, July 10, 2007

There’s too much insane genius crammed into the grooves of this record to take in just one sitting. A crazy clashophonic clownishness that plays drunken spiders with the rhythm, multi coloured playdough sounds that defy the laws of physics as off key musings slip into gorgeous tangles of style n texture. Nutty vocals quarrel n collide with the scribble, descend into throat sung wobble and tourettes abstracts. Sounding French, Portuguese, Chilean and god knows what else, forcing everything in erratic directions, like viewing life through a shaky camcorder or on a multi-dimensional fast forward - the scenery full of jaggy shapes and gaudy jostles that suddenly go all idyllic, only to blast you in belched noise further down the lane.

Insert-wise each track is illustrated in comic book style that confuses and amuses in equal amounts, a many armed guitar, pooed out babies, gleeful demons invading a vulvic saint. There’s logic in there somewhere, maybe a warped lament on love looted, but it’s probably best abandoning yourself to the hilarity and accepting this crazy piece of work as a shining grin in a 40 watt world.

As the only English says – You vomit on my shoes to prove your love, now my shoes are clean and you’re gone.